


call my bluff, call you babe

by tellmeagain



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28211403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmeagain/pseuds/tellmeagain
Summary: 5 Christmases.
Relationships: Quinn Fabray/Santana Lopez
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	call my bluff, call you babe

**Author's Note:**

> This might be my last published work for awhile so that I can try to reprioritize some irl things coming into the new year, and nothing seemed more fitting than concluding 2020 with Quinntana during the holidays. 
> 
> Reconnecting with this fandom has been nothing but bittersweet, so thank you for your support this year and for indulging on all of my ramblings. Merry Snixxmas, everyone!

**2018**

There’s not much leg room in the back row of Santana’s brother’s minivan and Quinn spends the entire half hour car ride to Lima’s renowned Christmas in the Park entertaining Santana’s niece Isabela in a repetitive game of I Spy, but there are worse ways to spend Christmas Eve. She voices this much to Santana, who’s still cranky from not getting any sleep on their flight and has an extra bite to her voice when her brother Vincent asks her to help unload the strollers from the trunk.

“Seriously. You don’t make a cute grinch,” she adds, because she’s feeling extra festive, and Santana just shoots her a thin look before unlocking the Bugaboo so it expands to its full size. 

“I totally do,” is all she mutters before coaxing her nephews over. 

Going anywhere with Santana’s immediate family is always a big event sheerly because of how many of them there are, so that’s all they really say to each other before they’re pulled into aunt duties. Quinn admits—nothing sounds more appealing than slipping away to the hot chocolate bar with Santana until it’s time to leave, but before she can harp on it too long, Isabela and her brother Ian are dragging their Auntie Q towards the ice rink. 

In ten short minutes, she’s ignoring Santana’s amused smirk as she tries to hide her slight disgust towards the rented, used ice skates handed to her by the teenage boy behind the counter. 

“If you fall, can you try to give me a nice view of your ass?” Santana teases. She somehow got out of having to go because she’s helping her other brother Mateo with baby duty, and this time, it’s Quinn's turn to plaster a warning look on her face. 

“It’ll be the only view of my ass you’ll get for awhile if you keep that up,” she answers, a defiant glint in her eye, and Santana has the decency to swallow down whatever retort was itching its way up her throat before narrowing her eyes and tending back to the stroller.

Quinn may be a grown woman now—as in, long-term relationship, spacious apartment in the city, steady full-time job—but it seems as though she still hasn’t outgrown that inherent drive to be good at _everything_ , so she turns down Vincent’s playful offer to grab one of those plastic helpers that allow you to balance on the ice and decides that this is something she can pick up on her own. 

She makes it about a quarter of a lap before her right hand clutches ceremoniously onto the wall and she watches as Ian and Isabela race each other easily around the perimeter of the rink. When Ian comes back around to clap her hand, Quinn realizes they were using her as the finish line. She’s not sure whether or not it warrants being offended, but then he and Isabela are taking both of her hands to help her skate a few laps, so all is well. When Isabela lets go so she can show off some spins she’s been working on, Quinn even manages to stay upright. 

“There she is! There’s Auntie Q,” Santana grins from the spectator area, her niece perched on her hip, and Quinn grins sweetly before crooking a finger at the tiny two-year-old, who closely resembles a bright purple marshmallow. 

“Hi, Gracie girl,” she greets, then her gaze flickers to Santana, who has this look on her face that silently says _I’m sorry for being a grumpy, teasing bitch when you’re the one who’s going the extra mile to make my family happy._ That’s what she assumes, anyway. But a part of her still wants to hear that out loud, so she simply flashes Santana a smug smirk before resuming her journey on the ice.

They continue skating until none of them can feel their toes, and Quinn’s trying to warm her hands with her breath when Santana stalks over with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. 

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” Quinn teases with an infamously raised eyebrow, kicking the rental skates off to the side and reveling in the comfort of her own, _clean_ , warm boots. Santana just rolls her eyes before taking the seat next to her on the bench.

“I’m sorry I’m annoying.” She shudders a little at the coolness of the metal beneath her jeans, and Quinn laughs before taking the hot chocolate from her hands and hooking their ankles together—one of their greater extents of PDA. 

“It’s ok.”

Santana’s eyebrows pinch together in slight irritation. “You’re not gonna deny it?”

“No,” Quinn says simply, but she’s smiling and hooking their arms together as they go to return her skates, offering Santana a sip of her drink.

They spend the next hour strolling down rows of Christmas trees and capitalizing on photo ops for Vincent, Mateo, and their families. Quinn never thought she’d be here; back in Lima spending Christmas Eve with the Lopezes, but there’s a lot of things she never dreamed for herself, and here she is now. 

Dinner is at Judy’s, where Santana’s parents are already having helped cooked, and three courses later, Quinn and Santana are unpacking their things and changing into pajamas in the upstairs guest room—because, frankly, like _hell_ if Quinn will ever sleep in her childhood bedroom again, laden with memories of mohawks and morning sickness. 

“Our family’s crazy,” Santana sighs tiredly as she slips under the covers. Quinn follows suit after concluding her moisturizing routine, her heart fluttering, because she’ll never tire of that. Hearing Santana refer to things and people as _ours_ as opposed to _yours_ and _mine._

“Explains a lot about us,” Quinn jokes before they exchange kisses and goodnights. She’s pretty much knocked out by the time Santana reaches over to turn off the light.

The next morning, Santana rolls out of bed extra early to grab one of the mistletoes downstairs and tape it to the top-middle of their bed frame. Quinn knows this, because even though she’s pretending to be asleep, Santana’s feet really aren’t as gracefully quiet as she thinks. 

So when she pokes an eye open as she feels fingers caress the side of her face, she grins sleepily. “You don’t need that to kiss me, you know,” she says, her gaze flickering up to the green plant hanging above them. 

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Santana brushes tangles of hair away from her face. “I just like having the extra reason.” She leans forward and plants a slow, sweet kiss to Quinn’s lips. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

**2019**

They’ve kept in constant touch with nearly everyone—Rachel and Kurt still live in the city and they all go out for brunch every other weekend, Brittany and her wife are always sending postcards from their never-ending nomading trek across the country, and Tina and Mercedes will catch up with them via FaceTime here and there—but this is the first time everyone’s back in Lima for the holidays in _years_ , so it’s a big reunion of sorts.

And of course it’s at a karaoke bar. Because what else do they do altogether besides sing and drink?

Quinn doesn’t even really see Santana for most of the night; when they’re out in big groups like this, the two of them have never really felt the need to be all over each other—they do that enough when they’re alone, at home—so they kinda fall into their own thing. 

Quinn tends to take on a more submissive role during large get-togethers and spends a lot of time sipping on Moscow Mules in one of the booths catching up with the likes of Mike, Tina, and Brittany. Mike and Tina show off pictures of their two-month-old, Brittany regales her recent adventures backpacking in Colorado, and Quinn lets them all know how well she and Santana are doing in New York. 

Santana, on the other hand, is always at the center of the action—regardless of whether or not she actually wants to be. People just naturally gravitate towards her, and tonight is no different. Right now, she’s playfully (and loudly) challenging Blaine to a sing-off to some ABBA song she apparently wanted Mr. Schue to have them all sing in high school. Quinn’s only half paying attention, but with the way Sam, Mercedes, and Kurt are all doubling over in laughter and cheering raucously, it must be of high stakes. 

Quinn’s having a really good time, her heart swelling at being here in this too-cramped, too-loud room with her second family. And to think it might not have been this way if she didn’t feel so threatened by the idea of Rachel and Finn their sophomore year of high school. 

She wishes he were here, too. To see them all, and how well they’re doing.

“Never did I think I’d be in my 20s buying Quinn Fabray a drink during our glee club holiday reunion,” Rachel muses when they treat themselves to another round at the bar. Quinn laughs, placing a hand on Rachel’s shoulder and lightly squeezing.

“I told you you didn’t have to do that, Rach.”

“You took care of our mimosas a couple weeks ago, so let’s call it even.” Rachel hands her a Long Island and they take a second to clink their glasses. “But seriously. If I could tell freshman year me what exactly she’d be up to tonight, I think she’d soil herself.”

“I don’t think my reaction would’ve been much different,” Quinn smirks, and this time it’s Rachel who giggles. 

“Fair enough. So what do you guys have planned for this weekend, are you staying with your mom?”

“As always,” Quinn nods, the ice in her glass clinking as she mindlessly stirs the straw around. “My sister’s in town this year, so that’ll be an event. Luckily my nieces are obsessed with Santana.”

Rachel grins at that. “It’s kind of amazing—how good she is with kids, huh?” There’s this awe in her voice that makes Quinn smile a little, because she doesn’t disagree. A beat of silence sweeps over them before Rachel speaks again, her voice bordering a shy cautiousness. “What about...you know, what about you two? Would you consider starting your own family?”

Quinn tries not to swallow too deeply, offering Rachel a nonchalant shrug. Because, yes, she has considered it—a lot of times, actually, whenever she can’t sleep or whenever she watches Santana play with their nieces and nephews—but that’s different than actually _talking_ about it. 

She knows Santana doesn’t bring it up because she never wants Quinn to feel pressured one way or another. They talk about Beth sometimes, and every year on her birthday, Santana will understand when it takes longer than usual for Quinn to roll out of bed. 

Still. Quinn always takes notice of the yearning behind Santana’s eyes, the tiny smile on her lips whenever they’re grocery shopping or taking a walk in the park and a baby will wave at them gleefully, a gummy smile plastered onto their face.

“One day,” is all she says to Rachel, who nods in understanding before they make their way back into the room with their friends. 

Santana and Mercedes are cheerfully belting out some Ariana Grande song Quinn can’t quite put a name to, and she takes her previous seat along the booth that wraps around the back and side walls. 

When the song ends, Santana makes a show of taking in the applause and hands her microphone off to Tina before plopping down next to Quinn, somewhat breathless. Beads of sweat have just barely gathered across her forehead, and she warmly places a hand on Quinn’s knee. Quinn scoots their bodies even closer. 

“Love you,” Santana says against her ear, flashing a smile. Everyone else is currently busy helping Tina and Brittany choose a song to sing, so Quinn dips her head down and kisses Santana’s shoulder. 

“Love you,” she echoes. And the way Santana’s smile never leaves her face just further confirms to Quinn what she said to Rachel. 

Yes, one day. 

**2020**

In all honesty, after a year like this, it’s somewhat of a miracle they’re still going as strong as they are. 

After nine months, they’ve found a steady new-normal that works for both of them—both as individuals and as a couple—but the path towards it was anything but graceful. There was a point earlier in the year in which Quinn was afraid they’d fall apart in the way others silently assumed they would.

They were lucky enough to keep their jobs, but with that came learning how to share a workspace every day. Whereas Santana thrives on organized chaos, Quinn needs complete and calculated order. Quinn feels most productive with music floating smoothly through their Google Nest, while Santana needs complete silence. It took them _weeks_ before they went a day without yelling at each other about who-knows-what, and they ultimately decided Santana would use their guest bedroom as her office while Quinn would get the living room.

The stay-at-home order wasn’t exactly their prettiest stint, either. Don’t get Quinn and Santana wrong—they _love_ their one-on-one time together, and they’re each other’s favorite person—but given how alike they are, being trapped in their apartment all hours of the day together brought about some clashes.

Quinn would fall victim to Zoom fatigue and unintentionally take it out on Santana; Santana would get annoyed because Quinn would invade the entire living room with whatever hobby she decided to take up for the month. _("Seriously, Quinn, I want to be able to sit down on the couch and not have to worry about getting a paint brush stuck up my ass. Clean your shit." "Sounds like the paint brush isn't the only thing stuck up your ass.")_ Most of their arguments revolved around little things, but they just happened so _often,_ and neither of them have ever been afraid to pack a punch, so sometimes it reminded Quinn too much of how they would treat each other in high school.

Not to mention they’re both more introverted than they let on, so it took a bit of adjusting to not getting offended when they needed alone time. They eventually fell into a pattern; Santana would nestle away in their bedroom reading while Quinn busied herself learning the piano, then after a few hours, Santana would emerge into the kitchen and make a snack for them to share while Quinn picked a movie to watch on Netflix.

The fights still came and went, of course, and not being able to dramatically storm out anywhere made for some tense interactions in and around the apartment, but at the end of the day, it was never anything they couldn’t handle. Plus, Santana has this thing for make-up sex, so. There’s that. 

By the time December rolls around, Quinn’s happy to say that they’re good. 

_Really_ _good_ , she might add, when she wakes up on Christmas with Santana’s face between her legs.

(Santana has thing for morning sex, too. Come to think of it, maybe Santana just has a thing for sex with Quinn.)

After, she scoots up the bed to press a kiss to Quinn’s hair, which is shades darker than the pristine blonde she’s been sporting ever since high school. She stopped dying it earlier this year, and a part of her was hesitant to embrace a hair color that was more Lucy than it was Quinn, but Santana still looks and beams at her like she’s the most beautiful girl in the world, so maybe—just maybe—she’ll keep it this way, even post-pandemic.

“Was that your way of telling me you want your gift now?” she challenges, but her hand rests softly against Santana’s cheek to water down the teasing. Santana rolls her eyes before turning her head to kiss the inside of Quinn’s wrist.

“Actually, it was my way of telling you I love you, but now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind trying on some new bling before we FaceTime our family later.” 

“A bit presumptuous, aren’t we?” Quinn laughs, a quiet _oof_ leaving her lips when Santana slumps her weight down and sandwiches their bodies together. “Hey.” She prods at Santana’s arm.

“Mm?”

“I love you, too, by the way.” 

Santana lifts her head at the words, a smile stretching onto her face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, that’s a relief.” Santana smirks, but there’s a soft edge to it, and moments later, she’s gazing down at her lap and rolling her lips together, thoughtfully. When she brings their joined hands to her chest, Quinn can feel her heart pounding frantically underneath her ribcage.

“Santana, are you ok?” she asks with urgency, and Santana just chuckles before nodding her head.

“Yeah, I am.” She crawls off of Quinn to fish something out of the drawer on her nightstand, and though her tone is light, her fingers shake slightly. “I’m just wondering what the hell to do with this super fancy diamond ring that’s been collecting dust in here.”

*

Quinn always dreamed of getting proposed to somewhere grand—like on a gondola in Venice, or in front of the Louvre. Passersby would gape and hold their hands to their chest and take out their phones to film the moment.

Instead, she gets a half-naked Santana Lopez sporting tangled sex-hair, in the middle of a pandemic that has isolated them from the rest of the world for the past nine months.

And Quinn finds it more than easy to say yes.

**2021**

They’re in the Turks and Caicos this year, because Santana’s job somehow ended up needing to schedule her on a business trip the last two weeks of December. It’s kind of a bummer being without extended family, but they have FaceTimes scheduled for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Quinn admittedly misses the snow a little bit, too, but then she watches closely as Santana spreads suntan lotion over and around her thighs, and...yeah. The snow isn’t missed for much longer after that.

They even have this private, enclosed cabana right next to the pool. Due to Quinn’s complexion, she’s in there for longer bouts of time than Santana, to the point she has her nose buried in the book she packed in her carry-on. Santana will pop in every so often to tend to some work call, her pointer finger drawing miscellaneous shapes on Quinn’s knee as she sorts through legalities Quinn doesn’t really understand. 

Maybe all the time she spent baking in the sun is getting to her or maybe it’s the mojito(s) she’s been sipping on all afternoon, but when Santana hangs up the phone after drily chewing out one of her colleagues, Quinn securely closes the flaps that make up both the entrance and exit of the cabana before craning her neck to where Santana’s laying down across the pillow cushions and wordlessly straddling Santana’s hips. 

“Hi there.” Santana’s eyebrows shoot up curiously, and her voice has this slight rasp to it as a result of taking calls all day. The giddy excitement that etches onto her face in a matter of seconds is enough for Quinn to grin as she leans down to press her lips against the very top of Santana’s breast bone, just below her dainty gold necklace that dangles with a tiny pendant that reads _Q_.

“You’re so hot when you’re pissed,” she mumbles against tan, warm skin, and she feels Santana’s throat bob as she swallows deeply before delicate hands find the swell of her ass. 

“Is that so?” Santana chuckles, her head tipping back instinctively as Quinn inches up towards her neck. “Where was that mindset back in high school?”

Quinn pauses her trail to return a breathy laugh. “Maybe it was there back then, too.” 

Santana sighs in a way that sounds like Quinn’s favorite song when Quinn angles herself to bite down softly on Santana’s bottom lip. “Jesus, Q,” she exhales, her nails digging into Quinn’s skin as Quinn’s mouth and body start making their way lower, lower, lower.

“You have to be quiet,” Quinn reminds her as her fingers curl around the strings of Santana’s bikini bottom. Santana squirms a bit—because asking her to be quiet is like asking a fish to stop swimming—but ultimately, she nods her head. In the minutes that follow, Quinn’s reminded of just how beautiful Spanish profanities can sound, even when muffled into an unused pool towel. 

It doesn’t take long for Santana to return the favor, and before they know it, they’re both panting messes with crookedly untied bikinis half-hanging off their bodies. Quinn’s too tired to move until something catches at the corner of her eye. “Dammit,” she murmurs. “I forgot to mark my page in my book.”

Santana knits her eyebrows together to inspect the crime scene before inching the novel further from reach. She’s always liked Quinn’s attention undivided. “You surprise me every day, Fabray,” she says, but her tone is endearing and she’s softly lacing their fingers together, so Quinn decides that finding her page again can be a later problem. 

**2022**

She gets an email from Shelby the second week of November. 

It’s not long; just explains that Beth is in seventh grade now and a recent biology assignment had her asking a lot of questions, and if Quinn is comfortable with sharing her address, Beth would like to send her a letter. She’s really into handwritten sentiments, Shelby says, and Quinn nearly cries—because she was the same way at that age, and maybe there’s a piece of her in that little girl, after all. 

Santana hands her a bright pink envelope from their mail pile a week and a half later, kissing the top of Quinn’s head before leaving her be. Quinn trembles as her pointer finger traces over the letters of her name scribbled onto the front of the envelope in neat cursive.

Beth talks about school and her science class, and she explains how Shelby told her about Quinn and Noah and how they were too young to take care of Beth when she was born, so they gave her to someone who could. She talks about how she likes to read, and how she’s the only person in the seventh grade whose mom let them start reading _The Hunger Games_.

Quinn’s on her twentieth read-through when she realizes that the last paragraph is Beth and Shelby inviting her and Santana for dinner sometime over the holidays.

She clicks her calendar open on her laptop, scrolling to December. She and Santana don’t leave for Lima until the 20th, and the only other pressing event scheduled for the month is Rachel’s baby shower on the 14th. 

“What if she doesn’t like me? Or, I’m just...not who she expects? Or _wants?”_ Quinn worries between bites of green beans at dinner. Santana peers up at her over the brim of her wine glass.

“Q, I don’t think she’s expecting anything, really,” she laughs, softly. “And what she _wants_ is to meet you. All you need to be is yourself.” Her shoulders lift in a shrug, and she puts forth her reassuring smile, the one that says _you’ll be ok, and in the off-chance you’re not, I got you_. 

“Yeah,” Quinn murmurs, but there’s still an apprehensive edge to her voice, so Santana reaches forward to clasp their hands together.

“Hey. You got _me_ to like you, didn’t you? If you can do that, I think you can work some magic on Beth, too.” Her signature smirk is comforting in a way that Quinn can’t really explain, and she feels the tension release from her shoulders, just a little bit. 

She feels the same release a couple weeks later, as she sits in Shelby’s living room with Shelby, Beth, and Santana just after they’ve finished dinner. 

“—and _please_ tell me you’re Team Peeta, because honestly, if not, then we’re gonna have to get up and leave right now,” Santana deadpans mid-conversation, but her tone is playful and sweet, and when Beth bellows out an entertained laugh, Quinn thinks she could stay in this moment forever. 

They don’t talk about things like bearing a child at 16, how, for a long time, Beth was the last thing Quinn thought about every night, how she has a nose like Lucy and a mischievous grin like Puck. They talk about easier things, like books and Beth’s favorite classes at school and how she eventually wants to try out for the high school tennis team.

Quinn’s not sure if she’s even _allowed_ to feel proud, but she is anyway. 

Some time later, Shelby and Santana are in the kitchen prepping some coffee when Beth starts to tell Quinn about Ava, her best friend at school. If there’s one thing Beth _didn’t_ get from Quinn, it’s Quinn’s shyness. She can talk Quinn’s ear off almost as well as Santana and Rachel, but Quinn’s finding that she still can’t get enough.

“So, she’s been my best friend since the third grade. But we fight sometimes, too, like about how she always wants to sit with the boys at lunch now, or how I’m faster than her when we have to run laps in gym class. I don’t know, it just feels like things are different now. And she’s going to _private_ school for high school, so we probably won’t even talk anymore. Which, you know, is kind of sad, but whatever. It happens.” 

Quinn frowns, offering a thoughtful _hmm_ in acknowledgement. She leans forward a little from her spot on the couch and rests her elbows on her knees. “Could I offer some advice maybe?”

Beth grins hopefully. “Yeah, sure, Quinn,” she invites, and the way Quinn’s name sounds coming off her lips causes Quinn’s stomach to somersault. She flashes Beth a quick smile to gain her composure. 

“It’s not always going to be easy with best friends, trust me,” she almost chuckles, vivid memories of emotionally-charged slap fights and hallway brawls coloring the back of her mind. “You’re not always going to agree on things, and you may not even always talk or be close, but in my opinion, that only makes the good moments that much more sweeter. You know?”

“Kinda,” Beth shrugs, and Quinn nods her head before continuing. 

“And as for high school…” She worries her bottom lip, unsure if she, of all people, should be dishing out advice concerning that phase of life. “As for high school, you’re going to come across a lot of different people. Some you may like, some you may _love_ , and others not so much. But, just...be nice to all of them. Even the ones you're not so fond of.” She pauses for a moment. “Your opinions can change further down the line, and you might regret the things you said, or the way you acted. Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Beth says, genuinely. “Thanks.” A few moments of silence sweep over them before she speaks up again. “Hey, Quinn?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I hug you?” Beth asks it so timidly, a stark contrast to the demeanor she’s held the entire night, and Quinn swallows thickly, a bit taken aback. Then, a serene smile stretches onto her lips. 

“Of course,” she nods, rising to her feet and lamely wiping the palms of her hands onto the sides of her jeans. Beth grins before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Quinn’s middle, her head nuzzling against Quinn’s chest. 

Quinn’s throat tightens with swelling emotion, and when she wraps her arms back around the girl’s shorter, smaller frame, she squeezes gently. 

“I think you’re so cool for what you did. And really brave,” Beth tells her. Quinn has to lift her gaze to the ceiling to keep any tears from spilling. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, then she boldly runs a hand over the length of Beth’s hair. She thinks back to what she said to Puck in an empty classroom ten years ago, when she was misguided and lost and broken. _My perfect little thing._ She regrets everything about that stint senior year, but those words still remain true.

When Santana and Shelby come back, they start up a game of Scrabble, and Quinn and Santana limit their competitive frustrations to subtle kicks under the table. Quinn will wait until they’re in the car to tell Santana that WAP should _not_ be considered a valid word.

When they get ready to leave, Beth hugs them both as they slip on their coats.

“Quinn and Santana are the coolest,” she grins up at Shelby, who laughs as she wraps her arms around Beth’s shoulders.

“They are pretty cool, huh?”

“Will you guys come back next year?” Beth asks, and Quinn and Santana exchange smiles and nods.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Santana says. “And you have to let us know when you finish the Harry Potter series.” Beth nods reassuringly. When she goes to help Santana work the locks on their door, Quinn places a hand on Shelby’s arm.

“Thank you,” she says meaningfully, and she hopes Shelby knows that she’s not just talking about dinner.

Shelby does, and the smile she shoots Quinn is laced with warmth. “We’ll see you again soon,” she says, and Quinn nods before bidding Beth another goodbye and following Santana to the car.

“Who knew you were capable of making such a cool kid?” Santana quips as she turns on the heater, and Quinn nudges her lightly from the passenger’s seat. “Kidding. But seriously, babe, she’s great.”

“Yeah, she is,” Quinn breathes out. 

“And Q, I’m- I’m sorry for all the things I ever…”

“It’s ok.” Quinn reaches over the console and presses a light kiss to Santana’s hand. The two of them have forgiven each other for all the stupid things they said and did in high school, even if they haven’t explicitly said it, but it’s not something Quinn really wants to think about right now, so she pivots. “You know, I think I still have some baby-making powers in me.”

Santana’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, do you now?” she grins, her fingers reaching out to curl around the nape of Quinn’s neck.

“Maybe,” Quinn chuckles, her eyes flickering to Santana’s lips, looking full and plump and somewhat shiny from her lip gloss. “Once we get another set of rings on each other, maybe we can check that out.”

“It’s so hot when you make plans,” Santana teases breathily, and she sighs as she captures their lips together. When she pulls away, her eyes are hooded and her smirk is lustful. “Shit, girl, I might just have to put a baby in you myself.”

“Oh, God,” Quinn laughs. But Santana never bluffs when it comes to the bedroom, so Quinn runs a hand through her mussed hair and returns Santana’s smirk. “Well, if that’s the case, you better take me home, then.”


End file.
